


Second Meetings and First Dates

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, COVID-19, Canon-Typical Gore, Case Details, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Sort Of, accidental love confession, love in lockdown, zoom dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: "Sorry," Malcolm says, looking sincerely apologetic for breaking into their conversation. "Hello, I'm Malcolm Bright. I'll be walking you through your training session today. I, um, I used to be a profiler with the FBI," he says (a little self-consciously, Gil thinks, as he watches the man's eyes dart down at the admission). When he continues, it's with a little less zeal, and Gil finds himself missing the perky enthusiasm almost immediately. "The psychopathy of a true necrophiliac is actually quite fascinating. But, um, that's not my place and I'm sorry to have interrupted."OrAn au where Gil and Malcolm never kept in touch after Martin's arrest. Over two decades later, when Gil sees Malcolm for the first (second) time, it might just be love at first sight.The only hurdle? Dating during COVID.(Tags and ratings may or may not change as this story is written)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 59
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalsanyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/gifts).



> My brilliant and beautiful Sanyo! You asked for a fic like this a while back, and I'm crossing my fingers that this is what you had in mind! Sadly, I was unable to finish (inspiration is a fiesty little bitch), so I hope you don't mind getting this a chapter at a time.
> 
> I sincerely hope your birthday is as amazing as your mind is!! Sending you so much love ❤

Gil signs himself in, entering the meeting number and password he was given by his higher-ups, and suddenly the welcome slide is being projected onto the freshly-cleaned caseboard. Judging by the list of participants on the right-hand side of the screen, the presenter is already there and waiting for the team to show up.

With how busy they've been lately, they've been pushing off the mandatory training for the last three months. Gil was told, in no uncertain terms, that he and his team would be completing the training today or would be suspended for disobeying a direct order.

Gil is _fairly_ certain that it's an empty threat — the order came down from a member of the brass that Gil would consider a friendly acquaintance and the man didn't sound particularly serious when he said it — but Gil knows that, even if the consequences wouldn't be quite so severe for missing out once again, he can't push it off any longer.

Apparently, Gil, JT, and Dani are the only members of the precinct that haven't completed the latest round of online training, and HR even went so far as ordering a live session with the virtual enforcement training company so as to cut down on the amount of time it takes to complete the course.

He shouldn't even complain. Normally — before COVID changed _everything_ — the training would be done in half- or full-day workshops on the other side of the city. The company that provides the training, Dynamic Advanced Security, like so many others, went virtual when the pandemic hit. The one good thing about the new format is that it eats up less of his already chaotic days.

As soon as the chime announces his presence, their presenter introduces himself.

"Hello," the chipper voice comes through the laptop speakers, "Malcolm Bright here, with Dynamic Advanced Security, and who's all there on your end?"

"Gil Arroyo, Major Crimes division of the NYPD." Gil can't help the small smile that blossoms on his face. The man is just as bubbly in person as he is in the pre-recorded training seminars that he narrates. Gil refuses to admit that he's begun to hate the videos far less since this Malcolm fellow became the voice of the company a few months back. "Sorry Mr. Bright, my detectives are running just a few minutes late. We're in the middle of a major case and the timing of this training is…unfortunate."

Malcolm huffs out a sympathetic chuckle, "I completely understand and I promise I'll do my best to keep this brief."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you," Gil replies sincerely. "Let me just go grab my team and we'll be ready to get things underway."

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Malcolm says and Gil can hear the smile in the man's voice, even though the slightly tinny speakers from the old NYPD laptop. "I'll be waiting here for when you've rounded everyone up. Just say hi when you're ready."

Gil chuckles as he heads out of the room in search of his tardy detectives. As annoyed as he wants to be about this training, there's something about the instructor that makes Gil a little more on board with this whole virtual training nonsense. 

He checks JT's desk first and discovers no sign of his detectives, and is halfway to Dani's when he realizes he has a ridiculous smile on his face. He gives himself a shake and sets his mind back on track, berating himself for letting his mind wander off in the first place.

When he doesn't find them at Dani's desk, or even the break room, he starts to despair that they've forgotten about the training session and perhaps went for coffee, though it would be uncharacteristic of them both to miss out on something mandated by the brass.

As he's walking back to the conference room, he sees the two of them walking in ahead of him, both looking down at the open case file in Dani's hand as they go. Even from across the room, he can see how absorbed both of them are in the details of their newest case. He's loath to pull them out of the headspace they're both in to complete the training, but knows it must be done.

He hears them talking as he approaches the door, unsurprised to find them trying to profile their killer right up until the last second.

"Right, but why bother taking the time to bathe them and dress them up in swanky duds, just to bury them in a shallow grave?" JT asks.

"And why hold on to the corpses for so long? There's gotta be more risk of getting caught keeping a dead body around for days," Dani follows up, laying the folder out on the table as she sinks into a chair. She looks up as she sees Gil walking into the room and fills him in. "Edrisa puts time of death of the last victim at about five nights ago, but because of the park restoration, we know he was only buried the night before last."

"Which means our killer held onto him for three days before disposing of the body," JT concludes with a scowl. "That's an awful lot of time with a corpse."

Gil notices that even Dani has her nose crinkled, both detectives picturing the worst case scenario for keeping a corpse around. Gil _really_ hopes this investigation doesn't turn that direction, but he makes a note to ask Edrisa about any signs of sexual interference with any of the bodies they've discovered so far, just to be safe.

Gil's about to tell them to pack it up for the time being when the welcome screen of the slideshow disappears, replaced by an eager and absolutely beautiful face that lights up the room and makes Gil's heart stutter uncomfortably in his chest.

"Actually, necrophilia doesn't necessarily have to be sexual," the man — Malcolm, Gil reminds himself — says easily, leaning in towards his camera with clear excitement written on his features. "In point of fact, as per the last classification, there are ten types of necrophilia that your killer could be displaying. Have there been any signs of sexual assault?"

JT jerks back in his chair at the sudden presence of man on the screen, and Dani turns from eyeing the man speculatively to shooting a questioning look at Gil, but Malcolm ends up answering before Gil does.

"Sorry," Malcolm says, looking sincerely apologetic for breaking into their conversation. "Hello, I'm Malcolm Bright. I'll be walking you through your training session today. I, um, I used to be a profiler with the FBI," he says (a little self-consciously, Gil thinks, as he watches the man's eyes dart down at the admission). When he continues, it's with a little less zeal, and Gil finds himself missing the perky enthusiasm almost immediately. "The psychopathy of a true necrophiliac is actually quite fascinating. But, um, that's not my place and I'm sorry to have interrupted."

It looks like Malcolm is reaching forward to shut off his webcam once again, and Gil is a bit dumbfounded to find himself wishing that he wouldn't. He speaks before his mind has even caught up.

"Oh? Anything that might be useful in helping us identify the killer?" Gil asks, shutting the door behind him before settling at the conference room table in front of the laptop. He doesn't even think twice about switching on the camera on the laptop, and suddenly he's face to face with one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen.

Malcolm flushes visibly on screen, his cheeks becoming what Gil refuses to think of as a fetching shade of pink.

He also refuses to wonder if the blush stops at his cheeks, or if it spreads down to his chest as well.

"Perhaps," Malcolm says, a shy smile gracing his features, making Gil's stomach flutter in a way that hasn't happened in years. "I'd need a little more information to help narrow down which classification of necrophile you're searching for, though."

Gil is pointedly ignoring the looks that Dani and JT are shooting him, ranging somewhere between confounded and incredulous, and he'd swear there's a hint of a smirk crawling onto Dani's face. He focuses his attention on Malcolm instead, more than happy to converse with the stranger with whom he somehow feels an instant connection.

"I'd love to hear your insights on the case. Maybe after we complete the training, I could fill you in on a few more details, see if you can help us narrow down our suspect pool?" Gil offers. He knows he should probably clear it with the brass, but access to a profiler might just be what they need to get traction on this case, and with six bodies already on slabs in the morgue, he's willing to try the old 'ask for forgiveness rather than permission' business model.

Obviously it has nothing to do with wanting to prolong their conversation. That would be ridiculous.

But the way the kid's face absolutely lights up at the offer is so damn intoxicating and Gil feels himself teetering dangerously close to being consumed by emotions that he'd thought abandoned him years ago.

"Uh, boss?" JT asks, oddly tentative, and Gil realizes he and Malcolm have been staring (gazing?) at each other wordlessly for longer than is socially acceptable.

Gil clears his throat and looks up to find JT eyeing him like a puzzle he just can't solve and Dani looking like she’s just barely containing the laughter that's trying to bubble up from her chest.

"Right, sorry." Gil is certain that he hasn't felt this flustered since he asked Jackie out on their very first date, and then packs away that thought as quickly as he can. That's not where this is heading, Gil thinks to himself.

But a little voice in the back of his mind, hopeful and heartened, asks if he's really so sure about that.

"Let's, uh...Let's get on with this training, hmm?" Gil says slowly, giving Malcolm a warm smile before reaching forward to shut off his camera.

"Right. Yes," Malcolm hurriedly follows suit, his image on the makeshift screen suddenly replaced with slide one of seventy-two of their presentation. "So, um, I'm Malcolm Bright, but...I think I already said that." 

The small, self-deprecating chuckle makes Gil want to reach out, which is absurd really, since they're not only communicating virtually, but he knows nothing at all about the man in question, outside of his enthusiasm for the training videos he pre-records, and that he used to be FBI.

(And that his smile lights up a room, and that Gil could lose himself in the depths of his crystalline eyes.)

"Would you like to introduce yourselves before we get started? I've already been introduced to Lieutenant Arroyo," Malcolm says, and Gil would swear that Malcolm sounds just a little breathless when he says his name, but is pragmatic enough to attribute it to wishful thinking.

"Detective Dani Powell," Dani says, still smiling and eyeing Gil with a twinkle in her eye that makes him scowl.

"Detective JT Tarmel," JT mutters, looking between Gil and Dani, and then to the screen that held Malcolm's face only moments ago, a dawning realization spreading over his features.

Gil drops his eyes to the notebook just to the right of the laptop, ready to jot down any salient points throughout the presentation, more than ready to forget about the looks his team is giving him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Malcolm says, seeming to slide into his role as presenter with ease. Gil envies him the effortless transition. He can still feel the heat in his cheeks and just prays that JT and Dani can't see it from where they're sitting. "Are you all ready to begin? I promised the Lieutenant to keep this as brief as possible so you can get back to your case."

At the three affirmatives he receives, Malcolm Bright begins his presentation. 

Gil finds himself drawn in immediately, like he was with all of Malcolm's other pre-recorded videos. There's something about the way he speaks — articulate and knowledgeable yet still perfectly welcoming and accessible — that Gil can't help but think he's perfectly suited for his line of work.

The training goes quickly, and after just over an hour, they've burned through all of the material, and even learned a thing or two along the way.

"And that concludes your training for today!" Malcolm says. Gil can hear the smile in his voice and feels his own lips pulling up at the corners. 

He abruptly tugs them down into a scowl when he feels Dani's gaze land on him.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Bright." Gil most certainly does _not_ smile at the computer in front of him as though he can see the man through the final slide that's still sitting on the screen.

"It was my pleasure," Malcolm returns quietly, and it feels like he's speaking directly to Gil, like he _truly_ means it. "Um, does the offer still stand to help provide a profile for your case?"

"Of course," Gil says eagerly, disinclined to end the call so soon anyway. "Let me just spin you around here so you can see the team while they explain the details."

Gil turns on the camera in preparation for spinning the laptop around, pleased to note that Malcolm does the same. The shy smile he gets is enough to make him want to kick the team out and walk Malcolm through the case on his own, but he knows Dani and JT have a more detailed understanding of the finer points of the case.

"Hi again," Malcolm smiles, his eyes lighting up as his gaze trails over Gil.

"Hi," Gil says in return, running his thumb absently along the edge of the laptop. It's too damn easy to get lost in the kid's crystal clear eyes, a fact made abundantly clear when Dani pointedly clears her throat. "Oh, yes. Right. Here we go."

Gil spins the laptop to take in his two detectives on the one side of the conference table and then pushes to his feet, propping himself up against a filing cabinet behind them so he can still be in frame (still see Malcolm).

JT spins to face him before they even say a word, quietly asking, "Boss, you sure this is okay? Sharing case details with an outsider?"

Whether it's the possibility of not getting to help or the word 'outsider', Malcolm's face falls at the question that he wasn't even supposed to hear, and Gil's stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight. He's not sure why he feels so damn protective of this man, but there's something about him that makes Gil want to shield him from any hurts that come his way.

(There are many, many other things that Gil wants to do with, or for, the kid, but now is neither the time nor place to delve into those feelings, so he shoves them to the back burner to parse through at a more appropriate time.)

"It should be fine," Gil says, loudly enough for Malcolm to have no questions about Gil's willingness to work with him. "Dynamic Advanced Security has more rigorous background checks than the NYPD."

Which Gil always thought was a little extreme, honestly, but right now he's thankful for the intensive screening the company employs. Training for law enforcement isn't the only service they provide. They also have a separate branch that performs security for high profile clients. They can't afford to have a bad seed in their midst, so their screening process surpasses any that Gil's ever seen. He knows their staff is primarily composed of former military, cops, marshals, even former federal agents, like Malcolm. 

The NYPD has had to work side by side with DAS on more than one occasion, and Gil has seen first hand what a tight ship they run. It's also the reason they're the premiere training company in the country.

"And if we catch any flak from the brass, I'll make sure it all lands on me," Gil concludes. Though if Malcolm's profile leads them to catch their killer even sooner, he knows the brass won't care one way or another just how they got there.

The way Malcolm drops his eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corner in a surprised half-smile, the way he's unconsciously shaking his head like he's not quite sure what to make of someone taking his side of things has Gil deciding that, should Malcolm be amenable, he's going to take the kid out and show him what it means to be appreciated. 

Which…

Could be more difficult than he'd anticipated, he realizes immediately. He's heard some of the officers in the precinct complain about dating with all the COVID restrictions in place, but he never really gave it much thought himself. He hasn't even _considered_ dating since Jackie passed.

The idea takes up more of his attention than it probably should. As JT and Dani walk Malcolm through the evidence they have so far (and as Malcolm posits astute and rather fascinating observations about seemingly unimportant facets of the case that the team would've paid no mind to), Gil lets part of his mind drift into the logistics of dating during a pandemic.

He should be focusing on the case. He _knows_ he should be focusing on the case. But Malcolm is intelligent and gorgeous and has a stunning smile that carries just a hint of sadness underneath it and Gil honestly wants nothing more than to just kiss it away.

And at that meandering line of thought, he gives his head a shake, mentally berating himself for allowing his thoughts to go off the rails quite so badly.

(And, really, he's not sure he's even ready to analyze those thoughts just yet. He hasn't kissed anyone but Jackie in nearly twenty years. The idea of kissing someone else now is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying and best left to ponder when he has a glass of scotch in his hand and is kicked back in his recliner at home.)

When he fully tunes back into the conversation, Malcolm is enlightening the team as to their killer’s likely motive.

"A necrophiliac's desire to get close to a dead body can come from a fear of rejection, coupled with a deep and very human need for connection," Malcolm explains, and Gil's heart goes out to the man who so clearly relates to that need for connection. 

Beyond that, the fact that Malcolm isn't just writing their killer off as some sort of sick pervert, but rather seeks to find the humanity beneath the crime, is a testament to just how kind and caring the man is. 

"Relationships can be...difficult. Messy. Even for well adjusted individuals, it can be tricky to navigate the sea of emotional connections," Malcolm says, and Gil gets the distinct impression that there's more to that comment than just the facts around this case. "The killer presumably struggles with relationships in the real world, and likely experienced a traumatic event in their past that made it nearly impossible for them to form what's considered a 'healthy relationship' now."

"Dude," JT interrupts before Malcolm can carry on with his profile. "Is that a sword behind you?"

Malcolm looks over his shoulder and then back at the camera with an endearingly self-conscious grin. "Um, a 17th century katana, actually. I, uh, I collect antique weapons."

Fascinating, Gil thinks as he looks over Malcolm's shoulder and notices the wall of weapons for the first time. The kid is full of surprises. 

"That's weird, man," JT mutters. From where Gil is standing, he has the perfect view of Dani's foot spanning the distance between her and JT to kick the side of his ankle. At the nudge, JT adds, "But kinda cool. I guess"

The conversation veers back towards the case and Malcolm's profile, and in a little over a half hour, Malcolm's insights combine with JT and Dani's impeccable detective work to provide them with a viable suspect.

"Alright," Gil says, drawing three sets of eyes to him. "Powell, JT, go pick up Mr. McIntyre, bring him for questioning. Let him bake in the interrogation room for a bit before you go at him."

"Sure thing boss," JT says pushing to his feet and heading to the door.

Dani turns to look at Gil, angling her body away from the screen before giving Gil a look, subtly jerking her head towards the laptop and arching her eyebrow.

Gil pretends not to notice. 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the screen with a grin. "Thank you Mr. Bright, that was really helpful. I'll just leave you with Gil here to wrap things up."

"It was my pleasure Detective Powell. Good luck with your case," Malcolm beams. He seems genuinely pleased to have been able to help.

Dani shoots Gil one last pointed look as she leaves the room, deliberately closing the door behind her to give them some privacy. He can't really say anything now, not when Malcolm is still on the screen in front of him, but he makes a mental note to demote her later, and he'd swear she can hear that thought, because she walks past the windows laughing and shaking her head.

"So, um," Malcolm says hesitantly, drawing Gil's attention from his retreating detective to the man on the screen. "I just wanted to thank you. For letting me contribute to the case."

Gil brushes away the thanks, "Thank _you_ for giving us a lead to follow. Your profile is gonna help us get a killer off the streets before he can strike again."

"I'm happy to help," Malcolm smiles warmly at him. "The work we do here is important, but it's been a long time since I was able to actually help someone."

A feeling of warmth floods through Gil as he learns just how much Malcolm enjoys helping people. "The FBI must've been sad to see you go," Gil says as he walks forward and takes the seat in front of the computer. "You're obviously an excellent profiler."

Malcolm bites his lip and looks away, and Gil has to ignore the sudden urge he feels to pull that lip between his own teeth.

"Uh. Actually. About that," Malcolm says and Gil can just make out the motion at the bottom of the screen as he wrings his hands. "The FBI and I didn't part on the best of terms. They were most assuredly _not_ sad to see me go."

Well that's surprising. Gil can't help but run through a list of likely scenarios in his head that could lead to an uncongenial split with the federal agency, and the majority of them are...less than flattering. 

"I punched a sheriff," Malcolm pipes up, grimacing as he says the words aloud. Surprise and dismay fight for prominence on Gil's face, and Malcolm hurries to explain. "To be fair, he shot and killed a suspect that I had successfully talked into lowering his weapon, and then had the audacity to call himself a hero."

Gil pauses a beat, picturing the scenario in his mind and knowing just the type of hot-headed sheriff that Malcolm is speaking about. "As an NYPD lieutenant, I can't condone that type of behaviour," Gil says slowly, wanting to reach out to Malcolm as his face falls at the words. "But as an someone who's had to work alongside some shitty sheriffs back in the day, I'd say it sounds like he had it coming."

The words startle a laugh out of Malcolm and Gil spares a thought to imagine making him light up like that more often.

"He really did," Malcolm admits quietly, his smile fading as he nearly whispers, "He didn't need to die."

"Kid, I'm sure you did everything you could." Gil aches to reach out, to pull him into a comforting embrace and tell him everything is okay. He can't quite wrap his mind around the attachment he already feels for the man in front of him, but it feels like there's a connection there. 

"And it still wasn't enough." It seems like Malcolm didn't mean to let the words slip, looking up at Gil with wide eyes for half a second before quickly changing the subject. "Anyhow, I imagine you have quite a bit on your plate. Paperwork and red tape and all. I should probably let you get back to it."

Malcolm reaches forward, obviously intent on ending the call, and Gil's heart leaps into his throat at the thought of this being the last time he speaks to the man.

"Malcolm, wait," Gil hurries to say, reaching out to the screen as if he could physically keep him from hitting the disconnect button.

Surprisingly, it works.

Malcolm freezes with his hand reaching out to his laptop.

"Look, I'm not really sure how to go about this," Gil scrubs a hand over his goatee, feeling more self-conscious now than he has in decades. There's honest to God butterflies in his stomach as he considers what he's about to do, but he knows this is a now-or-never type situation and he's damned if he's going to let it pass him by. "I was wondering if you'd maybe like to, well, not 'go out', I guess, what with the isolation measures in place, but maybe talk again? Sometime?"

 _Smooth_ , he thinks to himself. 

He used to be good at this. He used to be able to turn on the charm and impress the men or women he was interested in. Now, though, he's so out of practice that he's not entirely sure that he actually even succeeded in asking the kid out on a date.

"Are you...are you asking me on a date?" Malcolm's voice goes up a few octaves on the last word and it's so fucking adorable that the butterlies in Gil's stomach start to settle, just a little, as a smile pulls at his lips.

"I'm obviously doing a poor job of it if you have to ask, but, yes," Gil chuckles lightly. "I'm very much trying to ask you out."

Malcolm blinks those big blue eyes vacantly a few times, looking as though his mind hasn't quite caught up with the turn of events and Gil is just starting to wonder if he should cut his losses, thank him for the training and insight into the case, and end the call before he can make even more of an fool of himself, when Malcolm finally speaks up.

"I'd like that. A lot," Malcolm practically whispers, just barely loud enough to carry over the connection.

It's like a weight on his chest — one he didn't even know was there — just floats away at the simple words.

"Okay," Gil says, shifting awkwardly as he tries to figure out what comes next. "I'll be honest, it's been a while since I've dated, and I have no idea how this even works with COVID."

"That makes two of us," Malcolm snickers. "I, uh. I'm a little out of practice with relationships."

The fact that he's just echoed Gil's own feelings somehow makes everything seem a little more manageable. He's not the only one floundering in the unknown here, and he wonders if, just maybe, they can keep each other afloat.

"Some of the officers here have been talking about Zoom dates," Gil suggests. He's not entirely sure what that would entail, but he's more than willing to dive into Google and find out. "We could maybe start there?"

"That…sounds perfect." The way Malcolm blushes does _things_ to Gil and he's not quite ready to think about that just yet, so he presses on instead.

"How's Friday night?" Gil suggests. It's only two days away and he's not sure if that sounds too desperate, but he'd really like to talk to Malcolm more and knows he has to get back to work soon.

"Uh," Malcolm hesitates and Gil's heart sinks. "I, uh, I have a consultation with a prisoner at Claremont Psychiatric Facility on Friday night. Would Saturday work instead?"

Gil spares half a thought to wonder what kind of consultation Malcolm would have with an inmate there, but hurries to assure Malcolm that Saturday sounds great. 

More than great, really.

"Saturday it is," Gil smiles as he suddenly feels unbearably light. This rollercoaster of emotions is really starting to wear him out. "Seven o'clock?"

"Saturday at seven," Malcolm grins. "I'll email you my contact information, if that works for you?" Malcolm, of course, already has Gil's information from his course registration. 

"Sounds great."

"I'll, um, I'll let you get back to catching your killer," Malcolm chuckles.

And that's that.

Gil reaches out to end the call and finds himself left alone in the conference room with an upcoming date, butterflies in his stomach, and a goofy grin on his face that he just can't seem to pack away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait Sanyo, I promise I haven't forgotten about this ❤
> 
> I hope you enjoy our boys having their first Zoom date!

The rest of the week passes by in a crawl and Gil finds himself antsy throughout the day, anxious for the weekend to arrive. It's been so long since he's wooed someone that he's not entirely sure what he's even supposed to do (or, for that matter, what he's _not_ supposed to do).

As hesitant as he is to drag his detectives into his newfound love life, he decides to broach the subject over lunch on Friday.

They're back in the conference room, their new case files pushed to the far end of the table, the old case notes filed away after getting a full confession from their suspect (and Gil can't wait to tell Malcolm all about it; excited to let him know he played a pivotal role in bringing a killer to justice).

They've taken every other seat around the table, still trying to maintain a six foot distance where possible, which puts JT on one side of the table while Gil and Dani take the other, with an empty chair between them. They chat amicably while they dig in, the food seeming especially delicious after a morning of pounding the pavement chasing leads on their new case.

"I don't know, man," JT says around a mouthful of his Reuben sandwich. "Tally wants to start trying next month but I don't know if I'm ready to be a dad."

"You're gonna be a great dad, JT," Gil assures him. JT is one of the few truly honourable men Gil has ever met, and he knows that he'll take parenthood as seriously as he does everything else. He also knows he'd love that kid to pieces.

"You really will," Dani agrees as she pulls apart the pieces of her quesadilla, strings of cheese stretching between the quarters. "Tally wouldn't stand for anything less."

They all chuckle at the statement but then JT turns his attention to Gil with a twinkle in his eyes. "What about you, boss? Got any visions of blue-eyed bouncing baby Arroyos in your future?"

Dani nearly chokes on the food she'd been chewing, reaching for a glass of water to wash it down and then spinning to face Gil, clearly awaiting an answer. They've been needling him for information since they got back from the arrest after their training, but, so far, he's brushed off their inquiries. 

"Ha ha," Gil says, setting down his BLT into the styrofoam container in front of him. He grabs a napkin from the middle of the table and gives his hands a quick wipe as he adds, "But we do have a virtual date tomorrow."

"Way to go, man," JT says with a raised eyebrow, appraising Gil with what seems to be a newfound respect. 

Dani just grins at him until Gil finally gives in and asks, "What?"

"Nothing." She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully, swallowing before she says, "I'm happy for you. It's time you got back out there. And he's cute, too."

Gil mutters something indistinct under his breath and takes a sip of his coffee — slightly stale and substantially over-brewed — to avoid responding, but JT leans in and taps at his ear, teasing, "Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it."

The withering glare he shoots them does nothing to quell their amusement, so he presses on, asking for their advice even though he's embarrassed to have to ask at all.

"Alright, laugh it up, but I've been out of the dating game for a while now and," Gil pauses, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts by taking another swig of his coffee, "and I'm not quite sure how this works."

"Well," JT says seriously, his eyebrows drawing in as he leans towards the table, planting his elbows and clasping his hands together, "When a man and another man love each other very much…"

Dani's amused snort breaks JT's stoney facade and even Gil can't quite keep his lips from twitching up at the corners.

Gil's not sure how many more withering glares he can possibly manage today. He's positive that he must've met the quota by now.

"Thank you, JT," Gil says, sarcasm dripping from the words. "I'm sure I'll be able to figure _that_ out, _if_ things ever get that far."

He ignores the waggling eyebrows that JT sends to Dani, ignores the way she tosses her head back and laughs from deep in her belly. He loves his team, but there's times he thinks he should ship them to another precinct.

"What I mean," Gil interrupts what's bound to be two smart-ass comments at his expense, "is that I need to sort out how to navigate the world of Zoom dating before I can even think about anything else."

Dani tilts her head in acknowledgement while JT offers a soft, "Ah," at the admission.

Gil scrubs a hand over his face and huffs out a breath. "So what I'm asking, is what am I supposed to do?" He's looked online. Saw suggestions for playing a game, watching a movie, even attending a virtual museum tour together. None of it seems quite right.

"Sorry boss," JT shrugs. "I've been married so long I don't even remember what dating is. Let alone how to do it online."

Both men turn their attention to Dani, but she just holds her hands up in front of her, warding off the question. "I haven't been on a date since before the pandemic. I don't know what to tell you, Gil."

Well shit, Gil thinks to himself. He'd sort of been relying on advice from his much younger detectives to figure out just what he was supposed to do about this Zoom date.

"Um. Have you asked him what he wants to do?" Dani asks, and it sounds so reasonable he's not entirely sure how he didn't think of that before.

"I...have not," Gil admits.

"Might be a good place to start," she suggests.

They finish their lunch with a little more ribbing from JT and Dani, and some purposeful redirection of the conversation on Gil's part. Before they get back to the grind, though, Gil excuses himself and heads to his office, sitting down with his phone in his hands and a frown on his face.

Like Malcolm had suggested, he'd emailed Gil his phone number just after they ended their last conversation. But Gil isn't exactly sure what to say. He doesn't want to sound like an old man — he's already quite aware of the age difference between them and is guessing he's old enough to be the kid's father — but he really has been out of the game for a while.

In the end, he aims for casual.

_Have anything specific in mind for tomorrow?_

He hits send and then tells himself to put his phone away, to get back to the paperwork that's trying to drown him. Instead, he ends up staring at the screen like it holds the answers to life, the universe, and everything. When the three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen, it startles Gil enough that he almost drops his phone.

_Would you care to share a drink? Get to know one another a little better?_

And that, Gil thinks, sounds perfect. 

_That sounds great. See you tomorrow at seven._

Gil thinks for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin as he briefly considers. And then he types out one more message.

_I'm looking forward to it._

The response is nearly immediate and makes him smile at the screen like a fool.

_Me too._

The rest of the day flies by. Their investigation leads to a suspect — the mistress, unsurprisingly — and by eight o'clock that evening, they're leading her into an interrogation room, reminding the woman that she has the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney as she confesses to the murder before they've even made it through the precinct and into the room.

For a change, Gil actually makes it home by eleven o'clock with an entire weekend free ahead of him.

He ends up in bed, thinking about his date tomorrow, thinking about brilliant blue eyes with a brilliant mind to match, and he falls asleep with a soft smile on his face and more hope in his heart than he's had in years.

\---

He wakes up well rested and even takes the time to luxuriate in bed for a change. When he does finally get up, it's to pad to his kitchen in his pyjamas, fry himself up a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, and then sit down at his small kitchen table to enjoy the meal.

It's funny, he thinks, how easy it is to forget what it's like to cook and eat a meal at home. He's usually so absorbed in their cases that he picks up something from whatever hole-in-the-wall restaurant is open, or heats up a frozen TV dinner. He's pretty sure he hasn't sat at his kitchen table since the summer.

And he's positive that he hadn't considered that fact until just now.

He hasn't even gone on a date yet, and he's already reconsidering his work-life balance. 

After Jackie died, Gil threw himself into the job. At first it was a distraction, something to keep him from wallowing at home and diving into the bottle like he'd been so tempted to do. 

But after a while, when the wound wasn't quite so raw, he realized he had nothing else to do. No life outside of work. Nothing or no one to come home to at the end of the day. 

Surviving...that was easy. But living? Living was hard.

And now, after only one conversation with a complete stranger, he's rethinking his entire approach to life.

He can't explain, even to himself, the connection he feels to Malcolm. And he tries to temper it, he really does, because he knows the kid probably doesn't feel the same way at all, but it's hard to smother the spark when it's the first hint of light in his life in such a long time.

For now, he focuses on his breakfast. He eats as he looks out the window, watching the birds flutter about on the nearly barren tree in his tiny backyard.

It's peaceful.

He doesn't rush, and after he finishes, after he tidies up the kitchen and has set the clean plate, pan, and cutlery in the drying rack, he goes into the living room and settles in his recliner with the novel he started months ago and just hasn't had the time to finish.

His day is spent reading, puttering about, decidedly _not_ thinking about work.

It's late afternoon by the time he decides to shower and get himself presentable for his date (and the flutter in his stomach at the thought of an honest to god date is reminiscent of the first time he'd taken a girl out when he was fifteen years old and girls were an entirely unknown species; it's exhilarating).

He spends more time than is strictly necessary showering, shaving (making sure his goatee is perfectly sculpted and trimmed), styling his hair in a way that looks sleek but not fussy or overdone, even putting on some of the cologne he saves for special occasions, regardless of the fact that Malcolm won't be able to smell it.

He makes himself a light dinner of rice and chicken, tucking one of the cloth napkins that he and Jackie had gotten as a wedding gift into the collar of his knit sweater to guard against any spills.

Choosing his clothes had been...an experience. He's pretty sure there are more shirts and sweaters draped over his bed than in his closet at this point, but he's been told that the burnt orange sweater he decided on in the end compliments his skin tone.

He hasn't put this much thought into his clothes since...well. Ever.

So he certainly doesn't want to spill on them now.

When he finishes dinner, he grabs his laptop and sets it up at the kitchen table, angling himself so the window to his backyard is behind him (he hasn't cleaned up his dinner dishes, afraid to slop soapy water on his clothes, and he doesn't particularly want Malcolm catching sight of dirty dishes in the sink). 

Then he grabs a bottle of scotch, pouring himself a few fingers full and setting it on the table while he waits for seven o'clock to roll around. He leaves the bottle on the table, too, unsure how long this date is supposed to last, hoping it's long enough for a refill.

As he stands back and looks at the set-up, he can't help but wish they could be doing this in person. He wants to be able to pull out Malcolm's chair, to pour his drink, to treat him to a night out that they can enjoy together. 

And he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit to wanting a close up look of those eyes. 

But. It is what it is. And he knows that the isolation measures won't last forever. He'll just have to work extra hard to make sure this...whatever this is...lasts until he can meet the kid in person.

He loses himself in his thoughts for a while until the alarm on his phone trills, letting him know it's nearly time. With a deep breath he settles into his chair, taps a few buttons, and suddenly Malcolm's face is filling his screen once again.

And he looks...stunning.

The suit is impeccable, bespoke, if Gil were to hazard a guess, and even just seeing him above the waist, Gil has no doubt that it compliments his lithe frame beautifully. 

He also hasn't shaved, maybe even for the last couple days. There's a stubble, almost a scruff, that's absolutely enticing and that Gil craves to feel — with the tips of his fingers, with his lips, nuzzling against his neck. 

Gil shuts down that line of thought immediately, letting his gaze continue to roam over the handsome man on his screen.

His hair is styled much the same as it was when they first met, though it looks a little sleeker now, as though he just finished styling it. 

"Hi," Malcolm says shyly.

"Hey," Gil returns. "How are you?"

"Good," Malcolm says quickly and then pauses, appearing to think about it for a moment before adding, "Nervous."

Gil chuckles at the admission, feeling his own nerves abate as Malcolm confesses to his jitters. "Me too. I've been distracted, thinking about tonight." Gil figures if Malcolm can make a confession then he can, too.

"Really?" There's an innocence to the question that softens Malcolm's face, and Gil decides to be slightly more forward than he'd been intending, just to see if he can make it stay.

"Honestly? I've been thinking about you since we hung up after that training seminar," Gil says quietly, gauging Malcolm's reactions, hoping he hasn't just scared him off.

The problem is that Gil's feelings towards Malcolm are already so consuming that it's actually frightening Gil a little. He can't imagine Malcolm would stick around if he knew just how invested Gil truly is in this date.

"It's nice to know it's not just me," Malcolm chuckles and runs a hand nervously through his hair, mussing it up in a way that makes Gil think _bed-head_ and he can't deny that it's a really, really good look on the kid. "I, um, I accidentally hung up on the CEO yesterday when I got distracted by your text message."

The quiet admissions are enough of an icebreaker that both men seem to relax a little, falling into an ease of conversation that seems much less weighted after that, making small talk to begin with before diving into anything deeper.

"By the way," Gil says, taking a sip of his scotch and pointedly ignoring how his pleased hum as the smoky flavour hits his tongue seems to make Malcolm flush ever so slightly. "We caught our killer with the help of your profile."

The way Malcolm's face lights up is breathtaking.

"I'm glad I could help," Malcolm says excitedly, "Your team seems great. Smart, quick. It was really nice to consult with such capable detectives."

"They're great detectives," Gil says easily. He handpicked both JT and Dani and he couldn't be happier with the team, the family, they've built. "They also said to tell you hello."

Malcolm looks genuinely surprised by that, and Gil isn't quite sure what to make of the expression, but Malcolm speaks before he has a chance to ask.

"Tell them I say hello, as well," Malcolm says. The way he's fiddling with his wine glass — using the stem to idly spin the delicate crystal — makes Gil think he's nervous about saying something but plans to press on regardless. "It's, uh, not often that people want to work with me. It was nice to feel like a part of a team. Even if it was just for a day."

Gil can't wrap his mind around why people wouldn't want to work with Malcolm. The kid is smart, well-spoken, and clearly an expert in his field. He should have teams banging down his door for a consult.

"You can ask," Malcolm says, surprising Gil from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" Gil says quickly, not quite following.

"Uh. The profiling. I can't just turn it off. I'm trained to pick up on body language cues, microexpressions," Malcolm says and offers an apologetic shrug. "Which is a long way of saying that I can see you have questions."

"It's just," Gil starts, his eyebrows pulling down as he tries to fit the pieces together, "You caught the tail end of a conversation, spoke with my team for less than an hour, and helped us to narrow down our suspects and catch a killer. I don't quite understand why you're not still working with law enforcement, even if it's just as a consultant."

He doesn't add that he also can't understand why he thinks no one wants to work with him. It seems to be a bit of a tender spot that Gil instinctively wishes to avoid poking.

"I can be…" Malcolm lets the sentence trail off and tilts his head to the side, searching for the right word, "a lot."

Gil suspects that wasn't the kid's first choice of descriptor.

"I happen to like 'a lot.'" The words are out of Gil's mouth before he can second guess them but the renewed flush on Malcolm's cheeks means there's not a single part of him that regrets it. "Honestly, kid? Their loss is my gain. I'd be happy to have you consult on a regular basis if that's something you'd be interested in."

He's not holding his breath. He knows Malcolm already has a job, one that he seems to enjoy, no less, but he'd feel foolish if he didn't at least ask. He even spoke with the commissioner about the legalities of it, just on the off-chance that Malcolm agreed.

"Really? Because that would be incredible." The way Malcolm leans in, filling up the screen with wide, excited eyes has Gil damn near soaring.

"Yeah? I wasn't sure if you'd be interested, but I already cleared it with the brass. Just in case," Gil grins. "Why don't we set up a virtual call for next week. We can get proper introductions with the team, figure out how to go about everything? I'm sure there'll be some hoops to jump through and a mountain of paperwork, but we can get it sorted."

Gil tells himself that the fact that it's another chance to speak with Malcolm after tonight's date has nothing to do with the offer.

"That sounds perfect," Malcolm smiles widely.

"Now, how about we leave the work talk for work?" Gil reaches for his glass of scotch and takes a small sip before looking back to Malcolm. "Tell me about yourself? How long have you lived in New York?"

"Born and raised. Mostly," Malcolm hedges and then follows Gil's example, taking a sip of his wine, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of the crimson liquid.

Gil's taken aback by just how badly he wants to mimic the action with his own tongue, swiping it over Malcolm's gorgeous lips, maybe venturing deeper, if Malcolm would have him.

"I, um, I had a tricky childhood, though," Malcolm says quickly, obviously choosing to gloss over an unwelcome subject. Gil certainly isn't going to press. "So I spent a good deal of time out of the city in boarding schools, and then spent several years in Massachusetts for university."

"Harvard?" Gil takes a stab when Malcolm doesn't provide the name of his university. The ease with which Malcolm moves, his elocution, the bespoke suit; Gil's starting to wonder if Malcolm, perhaps, is the product of an affluent upbringing.

Malcolm seems slightly surprised by Gil's guess but inclines his head in acknowledgement. "As a matter of fact, yes. I spent several years there, working towards degrees in criminal justice and behavioural psychology, and then applied to Quantico soon after. I was based in DC for nearly a decade, though I travelled extensively in that time. I've only been back in New York for about a year and a half."

"Ah, well, born here and living here again, I suppose you're still a true New Yorker," Gil teases, thinking how most of New York seems to be transplants from across the country and around the world.

"I suppose so," Malcolm chuckles. "And you?"

"New York through and through," Gil smiles, it's a small thing, but it's something they have in common and it pleases Gil more than it probably should. "Left for a few years here and there but always came back. There's just something about the city. But I guess I don't need to explain that to a city boy like yourself."

The longer they talk the easier the conversation flows. One hour turns into two turns into four, and before Gil knows it, the clock is approaching midnight and he still has no interest in ending the call. They've talked about everything, including things Gil had no intentions of bringing up. Not yet, anyways. Not on a first date.

He told Malcolm all about Jackie, and Malcolm seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. He told him how difficult it was losing her and how Malcolm is the first person he's been interested in since then.

Malcolm, in turn, shared that he hasn't exactly been lucky in love, and it's been a long while since he's even attempted a relationship.

(It breaks Gil's heart and simultaneously stumps him. He doesn't understand how Malcolm hasn't been scooped up yet. But he keeps that thought to himself.)

They talk about movies and books, Gil's love of cars, and Malcolm's love of antique weapons. They compare notes on the latest law enforcement training tools and talk about their last vacations, prior to the worldwide shutdown. They even decide to start a virtual game of chess that they can continue on until their next date.

Which just so happens to lead them into arranging date number two.

And while Gil thinks it's silly just how delighted he is about that, he doesn't bother questioning or analyzing it. He just lets himself feel the buzzing excitement.

Through all their varied topics, though, Gil can't help but notice that, while he himself speaks of his family quite openly, it's the one subject Malcolm seems hesitant to broach. He mentioned his mother once, briefly, and then quickly redirected the line of conversation, and that was the extent of what Gil learned of Malcolm's family the entire evening.

It supports his theory of Malcolm coming from one of New York's established families. It's possible that he's trying to conceal a name that's often splashed across page six. And while Gil wants to assure him that his family will have no effect on how Gil feels one way or another, he decides to leave that in the kid's hands, letting him start that conversation if and when he chooses to.

A little part of him worries about a difference in lifestyle, a difference in class and social strata. But he quickly decides he can jump off that bridge when he gets to it. His father always told him there was no use borrowing trouble.

"Anyhow, I feel like I've talked your ear off tonight," Malcolm laughs as he finishes telling Gil about his silver medal axe-throwing win last year. 

Malcolm just keeps surprising him.

"Not at all," Gil says, reluctant, once again, to end the call. "I've really enjoyed our night. Enjoyed getting to know you."

Gil knows their date is coming to an end and has the absurd notion of being trapped in some sort of Cinderella-esque fairy tale, like he's going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, or something equally as ridiculous. He doesn't want the night to end, but he knows he can't keep Malcolm on this call forever.

"Can I confess something?" Malcolm asks, sounding far more apprehensive than he has the rest of the night.

"Of course," Gil says, setting down the glass of water that he switched to a few hours back to avoid the fog of inebriation.

"This was the best night I've had since I moved back to New York."

It's probably the best night Gil's had in years, too, and he starts to think that maybe he's not the only one feeling some sort of connection here. It's thrilling, honestly, and he can't remember ever feeling something quite like this before.

"I know what you mean," Gil says, "I'm already looking forward to our next date."

"Me too." The twinkle in Malcolm's eye is downright adorable. "And in the meantime we have consulting and chess."

"Sounds perfect," Gil says. He already knows he'll be counting down the hours to see Malcolm again. As a matter of fact, he's starting to consider how they can arrange a socially-distanced in-person date, if everything goes as well on their next date as it did tonight. "I guess this is goodnight, then?"

"Yeah," Malcolm breathes. "Goodnight, Gil."

"Goodnight, Malcolm," Gil says as he ends the call.

If this was any other year, when they could be on a regular, face-to-face first date, Gil absolutely would've kissed him. With all his years interrogating suspects, he's competent enough at reading body language to know that Malcolm was definitely interested. He wonders if his lips are as soft as they look. Wonders if he'd taste like the wine he'd been nursing through the night. 

He imagines what it would feel like to run a hand through Malcolm's perfectly coiffed hair as their lips slide together in a goodbye kiss for the ages.

Then he gives himself a shake and reminds himself that he's not some lovestruck teenager.

He chuckles as he powers down his laptop, slipping it back into its bag and stowing it away. He probably won't use it again until his next date with Malcolm.

Even though it's getting late, Gil isn't quite ready to go to sleep. He takes his time washing his dinner dishes and putting everything away before he finally heads up to bed, and it's only as he's walking up the stairs that he realizes he still has a silly grin plastered on his face.

Try as he might, he can't seem to make it go away. 

Maybe, he concedes as he crawls into bed and flicks off the bedside lamp, settling against his pillow with a contented sigh, he's a bit of a lovestruck fool after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday morning rolls around far more quickly than he'd expected, as it has a tendency to do. Unlike usual, though, he feels noticeably rejuvenated, which is a pleasant change that he attributes entirely to his date with Malcolm. He has so much energy, in fact, that he's dressed and out of the house before his alarm even goes off. And if there's a little bit of pep in his step as he jumps out of bed...well, no one but him is there to witness it.

It's crazy, but he'd swear that traffic is lighter on his way to the precinct, that he catches more green lights than usual. Logically, he's aware that it's his perception that's changing and not the flow of the universe, but either way, the world seems a bit brighter than it did this time last week. To top it all off, he even finds a parking spot near the precinct doors.

It's hardly a surprise to spy Dani waiting for him at his office door as he makes his way through the bullpen. He leads her into his office but doesn't even have a chance to get his jacket off before she's settled herself on the sofa, cradling a mug of tea between her hands while she stares at him with an expectant look on her face.

He takes his time to hang his jacket and set down his bag before he turns to her with his eyebrow arched in question, as if he doesn't already know exactly what she's going to ask. 

"So?" she says, holding out an open palm like he's going to physically hand her the gossip about his date. "How was it?"

Gil huffs out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. He knows he could tell her to get back to work and she'd let the subject drop, but he honestly needs an outside opinion on this whole dating thing and, if Malcolm is going to be working with them soon, he needs her to be onboard with that, too.

"It was good," he says, then debates with himself for a minute before he amends his answer. "Actually, it was great."

Dani seems so pleased about the news that Gil's reticence slips away before he's lowered himself to his chair.

"And? Are you going out again?"

"Going out might be the wrong turn of phrase, but yes. We have another Zoom date set up for Friday," Gil says, embracing the warmth that blooms in his chest at the admission.

"That's great, Gil." Dani's sincerity is nearly tangible. "I'm happy for you. He seems like a good guy."

"I'm glad you think so," Gil says, scratching his ear in what he knows is a nervous habit, one he still can't seem to shake. He also knows she recognizes it when her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Because you might be seeing him around more often."

Dani's eyebrows dart up, but the fact that she doesn't seem disheartened by the news is a good sign and Gil presses on.

"I've invited him to consult with the team. Just on a trial basis to start with," Gil hurries to explain. It's not as though he needs his team's permission to bring Malcolm aboard, but he hopes they're amenable, nonetheless. They've become such a cohesive unit these last few years, that he'd hate for a new element to ruin the dynamic of the team or cause any discomfort.

"Oh. Okay," Dani says, a tiny 'v' forming between her eyebrows at the news, that makes Gil's stomach drop, concerned she's not pleased about the situation "Is that...I mean, can you guys still date if he's part of the team?"

Gil chuckles lightly. Of course she's more concerned about this burgeoning relationship than the introduction of a new teammate.

"Yes, Powell. As a consultant, he and I can continue to see one another without incurring any code of conduct violations," Gil grins as Dani seems to relax at the words. "But are you okay with him consulting?"

"Don't think we'll really know until we try," she says after considering for a moment, but frankly, she looks more amused than anything else. "But if he helps us close cases as fast as he did with the McIntyre case, I'm on board. I know JT will be, too."

And that's that. Inviting Malcolm onto the team goes even smoother than he'd expected, just one more brilliant facet to what has already proven to be a damn fine day.

Dani is right that JT is (mostly) receptive to the idea — at least, _after_ he suggests running their own set of background checks and encourages Gil to question Malcolm about the assortment of possible murder weapons on display in his loft. 

What matters, though, is that they're all willing to give it a shot.

So when Tuesday morning rolls around, Gil is both anxious and excited to get into the office. Malcolm is set to call in at 10am and Gil has a handful of things that require his attention before then. By the time he's walking into the conference room, he's more than ready to get the ball rolling on the reintroductions.

"Hey, boss," JT smirks as Gil walks in and takes a seat at the end of the table. "Ready to introduce your new boyfriend to the family?"

"He's not—" Gil cuts off as Dani and JT's matching snickers fill the room. "I swear, if there's a single 'boyfriend' comment when he calls, you'll both be riding desk duty for the next decade."

"Mmhmm," Dani rolls her eyes at the empty threat, knowing full well that Gil doesn't mean a single word. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. If you're happy, then we're happy."

"For the love of—" This time it's the chirp of the computer that cuts him off and Dani reaches over to the far end of the table to connect the call, the webcam capturing all three of them as Malcolm's face pops up on the screen once again.

The first thing Gil notices is that he's shaved, and he immediately misses the scruff from their date night. The man is still beautiful, there's no doubt about that, but there's a certain rugged charm to him when he's not perfectly polished that does things to Gil.

"Good morning Malcolm," Gil says, attempting to keep some semblance of professionalism and not just make googly eyes at the kid as he returns the greeting.

"Good morning, Gil," he says with a soft smile before turning his attention to the left and then the right, beaming as he adds, "Detective Powell, Detective Tarmel. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"I think we can probably drop the formalities, bro," JT scowls at the overly polite greeting.

"Dani," Dani offers with a small wave.

"JT," follows soon after, the man in question inclining his head as an introduction.

Malcolm casts a considering look at JT, eventually asking, "James Thomas?"

"No, but thanks for playing," JT deadpans, but Gil would swear he can see a small twitch at the corner of his lips.

He has a feeling that, just maybe, this new dynamic might work out after all.

Today's get-together is mostly just a meet and greet, a chance to get everyone acquainted a little bit better and answer any of the pertinent questions about how, exactly, this new consultancy is going to work.

Unfortunately, despite Gil's objections to the brass, Malcolm will not be considered essential personnel, and therefore is not allowed in the station or at crime scenes. At least, not for now. Gil suspects that if their solve rate increases steeply enough, that they'll be able to manage a little wiggle room with that down the road. 

"For now, Malcolm will be consulting virtually, on an as needed basis," Gil informs them all, gauging all three of them for their reaction, before tacking on, "His own schedule permitting, of course. He'll still be working full time with DAS."

"It shouldn't be a problem," Malcolm hurries to say when JT and Dani both shoot Gil questioning glances. "With the exception of the occasional one-on-one training that comes up, the majority of my work is done on my own time. I record half of my training presentations at 3am as it is. I can certainly make myself available as needed."

"You know, normal people sleep at 3am, right?" JT leans in, an incredulous look on his face.

"Yes," Malcolm chuckles, "So I've been told. Sleep and I aren't always on the best terms."

Gil makes a mental note and files that away for later consideration. It's not as if he hasn't noticed the dark circles under Malcolm's eyes, but he'd assumed that it was just his natural complexion. Now that he knows he has sleep issues, there's a needling urge taking root inside of him to keep an eye on it. To make sure he's okay.

Right now, he has more pressing matters on which to focus.

In the end, hashing out the guidelines for their new team doesn't take long at all, and before he knows it, Gil is saying goodbye to Malcolm once again. Their current case is cut and dry, nothing that requires a profiler. A whole lot of legwork and an ungodly amount of paperwork will see them through this one, though Gil promises to call Malcolm in the minute they have a case that may benefit from his insights.

"So…" Dani says as soon as the call ends, spinning in her chair to look at Gil. "He seems pretty great. Cuter than I remember, too."

"Powell," Gil sighs, slouching back and dropping his head into his hand as he rests his elbow on the arm of the chair.

"I mean, she's not wrong," JT pipes in, surprising the hell out of Gil, enough that he actually looks up as JT gathers the papers from in front of him and pushes to his feet, seemingly unaware of the shock written on Gil's face. Dani's, too. "Dude's good looking. Seems smart. Decent, even."

When JT looks up and finds two sets of stunned eyes on him, he sets his papers on the table and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"What?" He scowls at them both. "I'm comfortable enough with my masculinity to objectively recognize another man's attractiveness."

Gil looks to Dani and finds her trying to hide a smirk behind her hand, dipping her head to conceal her mirth.

"Shut up," JT grumbles and picks up his papers then marches to the door. He spins back around as he stops in the doorway, gesturing to Gil with the file folder. "I still think you should run a background check."

"Oh, yeah?" Dani chips in, her face a mask of innocence. "How'd that work out with you and Tally?"

A grimace contorts JT's features for a fraction of a second, but then the file is being pointed in Dani's direction as he declares, "Seven years of marriage is how it's going." Without another word, he spins on his heel and heads to his desk. 

"Don't listen to him, boss," Dani says, still grinning about JT's comment. "Trust your gut. You'll know if he's okay."

He thinks she might actually be right. His intuition is usually quite reliable and has never steered him wrong in matters of the heart before. For whatever reason, he trusts Malcolm, and he's willing to roll with that until he has a reason not to.

For now, however, it's time to get back to work.

Which is decidedly more difficult than he'd care to admit. Time seems to bend around his conversations with Malcolm, curling and swirling as it moves towards the next time they're set to talk. Gil never loses focus on the job — their work is far too important to let his newfound lovelife become a distraction — but now, his free time is spent thinking about Malcolm; about their next date, their chess game, their text thread that becomes increasingly more active every day.

Unfortunately, there are no cases that week to call Malcolm in on, but the week saunters on regardless and suddenly it's Friday and the day is done and Gil has another Zoom date with Malcolm to get home to.

And so becomes his life.

It takes almost two weeks to catch a case that isn't just a straightforward homicide, and calling Malcolm in on it turns out to be the best idea he's had in ages. The kid works flawlessly with Dani and JT (even factoring in the light-hearted jabs and teasing that immediately develops between Malcolm and JT) and the three of them together become an unstoppable force.

With the addition of Malcolm to the team, their solve rate increases exponentially, and within two months of working together, Gil and his team are drawing the attention of the brass (in a good way, for a change). Suddenly, whenever a V.I.C. is discovered, it's Gil's team at Major Crimes that's called in to investigate.

It's a great feeling, Gil can't deny that, but it's not the new status of being the A team at work that has him heading home with a smile every night.

His relationship with Malcolm only becomes deeper, more intense as time goes on. They keep a standing Zoom date every weekend (Friday or Saturday night, depending on their schedules) where they spend the entire night talking about anything and everything.

Except for Malcolm's family.

It doesn't escape Gil's notice that Malcolm never volunteers any information at all about his family. Gil worked out that he has at least one sibling by the use of the word 'us' when he very briefly mentioned something about his childhood, but that's been the extent of what he's let slip.

It's not that Gil's concerned he's being deceitful, it's just that he senses some long-held pain in anything related to Malcolm's past and he'd like nothing more than to take that hurt away. He doesn't push, though. Not ever. He knows that, when Malcolm is ready, he'll share that information, and however much or however little he chooses to impart, Gil will count himself lucky to be taken into his confidence.

Outside of Malcolm's family, there's very little that they don't discuss. Everything from idle chit-chat to deep philosophical conversations are on the table when they speak, and Gil finds himself increasingly absorbed in their conversations.

And it's not just on weekends that they talk. Over time, their Zoom calls become more frequent until, without even noticing, they're speaking nearly every evening, even if it's just to say goodnight.

Their earlier hopes for an in person meeting were put on hold by a plea from city and state officials to limit contact and stay home as much as possible to avoid another shutdown like in the spring, both men agreeing that it was more important to do their part (especially for Gil, as an officer of the NYPD, feeling the need to hold himself to the highest standard) and that meeting up could wait just a little longer. 

But when the restrictions ease ever so slightly, they decide that it's time to meet in person, to see if their connection holds true once they're face-to-face.

It's on a Wednesday night, during their regular call, that they finally make plans to meet.

"So, I was thinking…" Malcolm says during a comfortable lull in their conversation.

"Always dangerous," Gil jokes, but leans in towards his screen nonetheless, anxious to hear what's on Malcolm's mind.

(Which, he's realizing, is nothing new. As he goes through his days now, Gil often finds himself wondering what Malcolm would think of _this_ , or how Malcolm would feel about _that_.)

Malcolm chuckles and carries on as though Gil hadn't said a thing. "The restrictions have lessened a little. I know we'd still need to be careful; keep socially distant, wear masks, the usual. But. Would you perhaps want to meet up? Maybe this weekend?"

Gil knows Malcolm well enough now to recognize that slight inflection in his voice. He's unsure. Nervous.

He's worried Gil might say no.

"I'd love to," Gil says simply, looking directly into the camera so Malcolm will be able to read his expression and conclude that he's sincere. "Actually, there's nothing I'd like more than that."

"Oh," Malcolm says, leaning back in his chair, his surprise quickly overtaken by joy. "Okay then."

"Okay then," Gil echoes.

And so, they make their plans and then say goodnight, and Gil would swear he can see the same excitement flaring in Malcolm's eyes that he feels inside. He's been wanting to meet Malcolm Bright since the moment his face popped up during that training call, and now he's finally going to get that chance.

It's surprisingly difficult to fall asleep that night.

And it's clearly still on his mind as he walks into the precinct the next day. Once again he's ambushed before he even has a chance to shed his jacket.

"Spill," JT says, leaning against his door frame, arms hitched over his chest as his gaze travels over Gil in full on detective-mode.

"You know," Gil says as he shrugs off his coat and plops down in his chair, tossing JT a brief glance before turning his attention to booting up his computer. "It's called a _personal_ life for a reason."

When JT merely stands there, staring at him like he'll be able to figure out what's going on if he just looks hard enough, Gil sighs and leans back in his chair, clasping his hands over his stomach. "We're meeting this weekend. In person."

JT's usually unflappable demeanour melts away as his face breaks out in a congratulatory grin. "About time. That's great news, man."

"Thank you," Gil says. There's a vein of embarrassment that still runs through him at his team's interest in his ever-evolving relationship status, but a part of him appreciates both their interest and concern. "Now, don't you have a jealous ex-husband to question?"

"Actually," JT grimaces, walking into Gil's office and standing next to the chair on the other side of his desk. "The reason we weren't able to track down the ex is because he's dead. Matt Walker, 46, was pulled from the Hudson three days ago."

"Why did it take so long to flag him as deceased?" Gil asks, sitting up straight at the jarring news. 

The case they caught earlier in the week seemed like it was going to be an open and shut investigation. All signs pointed to the possessive — and if the vic's roommate was to be believed, abusive — ex-husband. If their prime suspect was already dead when the murder took place, then things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

"Had to be identified by dental records," JT says, waving Dani in as he catches her eye through the window into the bullpen. She comes in with a file in her hand, likely, Gil thinks, the dental records that identified their newest victim. "His face was messed up pretty bad. Made it impossible to identify that way."

"And as for fingerprints…" Dani adds, opening the file and sliding it across his desk.

Gil discovers it's more than just the dental records in the file. Photos of the body are included as well. Or, at least, most of the body.

"His hands were cut off," Gil notes, flipping through the photos. His earlier carefree joy seems to disappear in an instant.

"Good way to delay IDing a body," JT shrugs.

He's not wrong. But it feels like something more than that, and he's long since learned to trust his gut when it's so insistent.

"Let's call Bright in. Get his opinion. This feels like more than just concealing a victim's identity," Gil muses, as he looks through the file and then flips to the file of their original victim — Amanda Yeary, 38 — comparing the injuries between them. 

The severity of the murders keeps Dani and JT from making any cracks about Gil calling in his boyfriend. Instead, they all head to the morgue together, eager to hear anything Edrisa may have found that didn't make it into the report.

Gil calls Malcolm on the way, filling him in on the salient points of the case and letting him know that they'd be at the morgue momentarily to speak with the M.E.

When they walk in, Edrisa already has Matt Walker laid out on the table, clearly having anticipated their arrival following the receipt of her report.

"Good morning!" Edrisa chirps as they make their way in, spreading themselves around the four sides of the autopsy table. Slightly more somber, she adds, "Well, not so good for Mr. Walker."

"Good morning Edrisa," Gil smiles lightly. "We have a consultant with us today via phone. Bright, I'm putting you on speaker." He holds his phone out in front of him and thumbs his phone to speaker before making introductions. "Edrisa, Malcolm Bright. Malcolm, Doctor Edrisa Tanaka."

"Malcolm Bright?" Edrisa's wide-eyed excitement seems to take up all the space in the room. " _The_ Malcolm Bright? The Malcolm Bright who composed a 100% accurate profile of the Kingdom Lake Killer?"

Dani and JT both look to Gil with identical quizzical looks on their faces, but, for once, Gil is just as in the dark as they are.

"Uh. Well. Yes," Malcolm's voice floats up from the phone and Gil can detect the slight embarrassment in his tone.

"You are the stuff of legends!" Edrisa practically squeals, clapping her hands together while she stares at the phone as if it's her absolute idol. "You have quite the following on many of the true crime boards!" She sucks in a deep breath, her face shifting into something much more serious as she whispers to herself, "The Websleuths are going to be insanely jealous that I met you. Well. Sort of met you."

"Edrisa?" Gil says, trying to pull her back on track before she can fangirl any harder, but Gil is honestly a little bit confused and a whole lot intrigued and he makes a mental note of both the Kingdom Lake Killer and Websleuths (whatever that is).

"Right. Yes. It's an honour to meet you Mr. Bright," Edrisa's much more formal tone is a clear attempt to rein in her enthusiasm.

"You as well, Doctor Tanaka," Malcolm says sincerely, "Gil speaks highly of your work."

The way Edrisa straightens and holds herself a little taller, the pride that seems to radiate from inside, it tells Gil that maybe he should be a tad more forthcoming with the compliments. When warranted, of course.

"Edrisa, can you fill us in on what we have?" Gil asks, deferring to the woman to better explain what they're dealing with.

"Of course!" Edrisa says, immediately falling into a more business-like role as she points out the various injuries on their victim. "Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, but I believe he would have sustained several blows before the fatal one was struck. Both hands were removed — post-mortem, thankfully — by something that was certainly not intended for the job. If you look here," she tucks the sheet that's covering the corpse between his body and his arm to expose the nub of his wrist, and all three of the detectives rear back at the sight. "The skin around the laceration is jagged and frayed, as if it caught on whatever implement was used for the dismemberment."

"Excuse me," Malcolm interrupts, "Gil, would it be possible to have you turn your camera on. It might be helpful to see the state of his wounds."

Within seconds, Gil is holding the phone directly above the mangled wrist, and then, at Malcolm's request, over the pulpy remains of Mr. Walker's face.

"That level of overkill speaks to an overwhelming rage," Malcolm says once he's finished examining the face. "Dr. Tanaka, how many blows would you estimate were required to leave his face like that?"

"It's difficult to know for certain, especially since we don't know the exact weapon, but I would say twenty-five, as a bare minimum," Edrisa says, studying the face before looking up to meet Malcolm's gaze on the screen of Gil's phone. "Oh! You are. Wow. Okay. Um…" she stumbles over her words trying to collect herself, trying to stem the words that keep flowing from her mouth. "What I meant to say, is you are very...slender."

It's a weak excuse of a cover up and it leaves JT shaking his head, obviously wondering just what is happening. Gil feels rather similar about the situation.

"Yeah, well, most food makes me sick," Malcolm says, somewhat self-consciously. 

And _that_ is entirely new information to Gil. He's suddenly thinking back through all of their conversations, trying to remember if Malcolm ever mentioned any food intolerances or, for that matter, anything about food at all.

He comes up blank.

"Twenty-five blows, regardless of the weapon, is excessive," Malcolm says, pushing through the awkward pause in the conversation to get them back on track. "This was rage induced. Somebody hated Matt Walker, or at the very least, what he represented to them."

"And the hands?" JT asks, as if he doesn't really want to know the answer.

"Based on the damage to the wrists, I'd suggest this was an afterthought of sorts. It's impossible to know weather the murder was pre-planned or a crime of passion, though if it was premeditated, they obviously didn't bring the right tools for the job. Sawing through flesh with a dull blade would be difficult enough, sawing through bone would be nearly impossible. This took time and an abundance of energy. They were committed to removing the hands, despite the challenge."

"A trophy?" Gil asks, fearing the worst. Two vics does not a serial killer make, but it's too damn close for comfort. 

"Perhaps," Malcolm nods. "Or a punishment. You said there was a second victim. Was she killed in the same way? Were her hands taken as well?"

"Sort of and no," Dani says. "Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. One and done, though. And she still has her hands."

"You're sure they're related?" Malcolm asks.

"Not at all. That's why we're calling you," Gil says, angling the phone away from the rest of the team so it's just the two of them. "But it seems awfully coincidental that an ex-husband and wife were both murdered within twenty-four hours of one another, especially when blunt force trauma was the COD for both."

"I agree," Malcolm says easily. "But I need more information. I need to see the bodies, the crime scenes. I need to get a sense of how this all happened before another body drops."

"You think there's going to be another murder." Dani states, already trusting Malcolm's assessment of the situation.

"If these two deaths are indeed related, I can almost guarantee it," Malcolm says. "This was imperfect, but there was definitely a desire, an urge, that led to our killer removing Walker's hands. I'd be willing to wager they've already procured the tools to do it properly next time."

"Shit," JT grumbles, perfectly summing up the feelings of everyone in the room.

"Okay," Gil says, making the decision that he knew was bound to happen eventually. "I want to bring you in."

"Is that allowed?" Malcolm asks, confusion and excitement warring for supremacy on his face.

"Let me make a few calls," Gil replies. He knows it won't be easy, but with the threat of a serial killer, he hopes the brass will be on board. "Work the profile as best you can with the information in the files — Powell, send him copies of everything when we get back — but be ready to come out tomorrow."

"Okay," Malcolm nods.

There's a moment of silence where both men merely stare at one another. This isn't exactly the way they intended on meeting, but, Gil thinks to himself, his life never did seem to follow a script.

While the circumstances are dire, he can't help but feel that little flutter in his stomach at finally meeting the man he's been falling in love with for the past couple months.

And he nearly drops his phone at the thought, just barely catching it before it clatters to the floor, or worse, onto the body.

"Gil?" 

Matching calls from Dani and Malcolm get him under control. At least, for now.

"Right, let's get to work. Edrisa, thank you for your time" Gil says, and then looks briefly down to Malcolm, softly adding, "And I'll see _you_ tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Malcolm smiles before ending the call.

As they walk out of the morgue, with JT and Dani discussing possible murder weapons as they lead their way down the hall, Gil has two thoughts tumbling around in his head, bumping up against each other with a force that makes his head spin.

He's finally going to meet Malcolm Bright.

And he's in love.


	4. Chapter 4

The calls go far more smoothly than Gil could've hoped. At the threat of a new serial killer on the loose, the brass is quick to declare Malcolm as essential personnel and allow for his presence not only at crime scenes, but the precinct and everywhere else the team goes.

Once he's off the phone with his higher-ups, Gil shoots a quick text to Malcolm, letting him know he's been cleared to work in person (and that he'll speak with him tonight) and then he's back to work, trying to hunt down a lead to point them in the right direction.

After hours of digging into both of their victims' lives, combing through financial records, searching traffic cam footage, and making calls to confirm times and locations, they finally take a coffee break.

Which mostly just means a short stretch where they're not actively working the case, but still discussing what they've found. Mostly. Because eventually, Dani steers the topic of conversation towards Malcolm. Again.

"So," she says as she leans back in her chair, her half finished cup of tea in hand. "Get to meet the boyfriend tomorrow."

"You've already met him. Multiple times," Gil rolls his eyes and sips at his coffee, knowing that it's officially become gossip time when JT leans forward, perching his arms on the conference room table as he tunes into the conversation. "He's been working with us for months. I think you've got a pretty good idea of who he is by now."

"I don't think she meant us, boss," JT smirks, his eyes flicking from Dani to Gil. "It's gonna be _your_ first time meeting him. In person."

It's true. And he's excited for it. But he also meant what he said. He already _knows_ Malcolm; knows that he's a good man that just wants to help people, knows that he prefers red wine to white — but generally sticks with mineral water (unless they're on a 'date') — knows what makes him smile and what subjects to avoid because they invite that haunted look to settle deep in Malcolm's eyes. Seeing him in person won't change any of that.

"Chemistry is something you can't account for. Either you click or you don't," Dani says, entirely unhelpfully. "Meeting in person is a pretty big deal."

Maybe she's right. But then again, his feelings for the man aren't going to just disappear if they don't immediately make a connection. He's having trouble admitting, even to himself, that he's in love with Malcolm, but he will absolutly concede that he has strong feelings for him. If it turns out they don't have a spark on their first meeting, Gil is willing to work for it. Willing to let it develop over time.

Because Malcolm Bright is most certainly worth the wait.

"It'll be fine," Gil says, the conviction behind the words surprising them all. It's true, though. He can feel it. "It will be nice to see him in person rather than over a computer screen, yes, but it's not going to change anything."

He hopes.

They spend the rest of their day working the case, and by the time Gil leaves, long after the sun has gone down, he's more than ready to go home, sit in his favourite recliner, and chat with Malcolm. 

The first thing he does when he gets home is change into a pair of jogging pants and his old NYPD t-shirt. Then he heats up some leftovers and sits at the table, pulling up his text thread with Malcolm as he takes his first bite.

_Zoom tonight?_

Malcolm's responses are usually quite quick, but Gil finishes his dinner, washes his dishes, and settles in with an old episode of Perry Mason, and still he's heard nothing back.

He has no reason to be concerned. He really doesn't.

But he is.

He sends off another text about halfway through the first episode. He doesn't want to crowd Malcolm by any means, but he also wants to know that he's alright.

_Everything okay? We don't need to Zoom if you're not up for it. Just want to make sure you're alright._

He tries to focus on the show, but by the end of the second episode, he realizes he has no idea what the plot was. It's not like Malcolm to not respond for so long, especially this time of night. During the day, he occasionally has courses to run, but Gil always knows about those in advance because it's something they discuss whenever they talk. But evenings are usually pretty open, especially with a good portion of the city still locked down.

When his phone finally buzzes, he's anxious enough that he answers before the first ring has even faded into the stillness of the room.

"Hey, kid," Gil says, and then immediately flushes at the worried note that's so clear in his voice. That worry overrides his embarrassment, though, and he asks the only thing that matters before he can dwell on it any further. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, Gil," Malcolm says quietly. There's a slight echo on Malcolm's side of the line, and Gil can't help but wonder where he is. "I'm fine. Sorry about missing a Zoom call."

"It's fine. I'm just relieved to hear everything is okay."

It's a little embarrassing to admit how used to hearing Malcolm's voice every night Gil has become. He knows that his worry was unfounded and, frankly, maybe a little patronizing, but his gut was telling him that something wasn't quite right, and it's hard to ignore that feeling.

"It's silly, I know," Gil chuckles, feeling ridiculous for being so concerned when he knows damn well that Malcolm has the skills and knowledge to keep himself safe in nearly any situation, "but I was a little worried when I didn't hear back for so long."

There's a harsh buzz on Malcolm's end of the line, followed by a hollow clang that sounds an awful lot like prison doors closing and locking. Suddenly, that echo seems to make a little more sense.

"Are you in prison?" Gil asks, his mouth moving faster than his brain. 

Malcolm chuckles, the sound helping to release the tension that Gil hadn't even noticed he was holding in his muscles. "Sort of. I'm, uh, visiting a patient at Claremont Psychiatric. Work stuff. You know how it is."

It's a clear brush off, but Gil isn't quite so willing to let it go this time. Not when Malcolm sounds...off. Tense. Maybe even a little scared.

"Malcolm—" Gil starts, but is cut off before he can enquire any further.

"Look. I, um, I need to go. I just wanted to let you know I won't be around tonight. But I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I gotta go. Love you. Bye."

The line goes dead before Gil has a chance to utter whatever incoherent response was forming on his tongue, and he's left sitting dumbfounded in his chair, wondering what exactly just happened.

There's obviously something going on with Malcolm. Something that makes the kid uncomfortable and that he doesn't want to discuss, but that Gil somehow feels the need to protect him from.

But more than that, the end of that call is bouncing around Gil's head like the metal ball in a pinball machine.

_Love you. Bye_

And suddenly Gil's mind is running a mile a minute, wondering if Malcolm knew he said it, if he meant it, if he has any idea that Gil feels the same, if this is going to change things between them, if Malcolm is still going to come to the precinct tomorrow, if, if, if.

He's not sure how long he sits there, absently staring at the blank screen of his phone. Eventually, unsteadily, he pushes to his feet and begins to move on auto-pilot to turn off the TV, turn off the lights, and turn in for the night.

He wants to call the kid back, but Malcolm made it very clear that he couldn't talk tonight. But without any kind of resolution after that call, and with all the unanswered questions that are left running through his mind, Gil knows sleep won't come easy tonight. He winds up laying in bed, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts that spin around him until he's dizzy and is left with far more questions than answers. Left staring at his ceiling, watching headlights streak through the darkness as the occasional car passes in the night.

He tosses and turns for a couple of hours, trying to quiet his mind, to still his heart. 

It doesn't work.

And he knows he's not going to be able to sleep until he does something about it.

Flipping on the lamp next to his bed, Gil grabs his phone and brings up his text message thread with Malcolm. He doesn't give himself time to think, time to reconsider and weigh his words, because he knows if he does, he'll write and rewrite and never hit send. So he types out what he needs to say as he speaks the words out loud, hoping that he's not just lobbing a grenade in the middle of the most important relationship in his life.

_I don't know if you meant to say it, or if you meant it at all, but I want you to know that I love you, too. I know it's a lot, and if you want to pretend none of this ever happened, we absolutely can. You call the shots here, kid. I just thought you should know._

He hits send before he loses his nerve, then he sets his phone face down on the nightstand, flicks off the lamp, and flops down in bed, wondering if he just made a huge mistake.

The fact that he did _something_ , though, is enough to clear his mind and let sleep take hold, pulling him into an uneasy slumber that doesn't recharge him in the least.

The next morning is a bit of a disaster. He sleeps through his alarm, puts the coffee pot on wrong and has to clean up a scalding mess from his counters and floors, and he even forgets to bring a jacket when he rushes out the door.

Worse than all of that, however, is the fact that Malcolm never responded to his text.

Not knowing where they stand is...uncomfortable. Distracting. And he knows he can't allow himself to remain unfocused at work.

He uses the drive in to center himself, so by the time he reaches the precinct, his head is in the game and he's ready to catch a killer. Which is especially vital, he realizes, as JT stops him before he's even made it to his office.

"Caught another body," JT informs him as he shrugs his jacket on. "Edrisa's on scene, says it looks like another vic from our killer."

Gil scrubs a hand over his goatee and huffs out a breath. "Dammit."

"Powell's heading straight to the crime scene. I told her we'd meet her there." JT says, gesturing for Gil to lead the way back outside. "You wanna bring Bright in on this, too?"

He does. Of course he does. He just doesn't know if Malcolm wants to hear from him right now.

They're walking down the stairs in front of the precinct when Gil finally answers, ignoring the curious look JT is casting his way at the obvious hesitance Gil is showing.

"Yeah," Gil agrees as they make their way towards his LeMans. "Would you mind giving him a call and letting him know the details while I drive?"

JT waits until they're both settled in the car, buckled up and ready to go before he turns to Gil and asks, "Everything okay with you two?"

Gil starts the engine and eases into traffic, asking JT for the address instead of answering the question. The problem is, he's not really sure _how_ to answer that at all. Either things are great — amazing really, because he and Malcolm are in love with one another — or a slip of the tongue and a hastily sent text just spelled out the end of their relationship.

Or maybe everything is exactly the same as it was before the whole love confession debacle.

He just doesn't know.

"Boss?" JT asks when Gil remains resolutely silent on the subject.

"You should give him a call," Gil says, shoulder checking as he changes lanes amidst the morning gridlock. "He'll need some time to get there himself."

JT takes the hint and lets the subject drop, though Gil can still feel the concerned glances that dart his way as JT pulls out his phone and dials Malcolm's number, filling him in on the latest details and the address of the crime scene.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, and it isn't long before they're pulling up in front of one of the hundreds of homeless shelters throughout the city.

Walking in, Gil notices it's one of the nicer shelters he's been called out to, though even still, he worries about the safety of the patrons as it's practically impossible to social distance when there are so many people needing a place to eat, to warm up, to sleep.

There's a uniformed officer standing at the side of the room, blocking the entrance to the doorway behind her. It's a pretty solid indicator of which way they're going. They head through the door and down a hall filled with administration offices, and then down a set of stairs that takes them into a stone basement. 

It's a hive of activity as soon as they make it down the last step. A forensics team is photographing and cataloging evidence, a couple of uniformed officers are milling about, and Edrisa is in the middle of the room, hunched over what is clearly their most recent victim.

Based on body type, Gil assumes it's a man.

There's not enough of a face left to give a hint either way.

Dani is standing next to the body, her nose scrunched up against the gory scene at her feet. 

"What've we got?" Gil asks as he and JT approach the body. As he gets closer and Edrisa's body is no longer blocking him from seeing the full picture, he notices that the man's hands have been cut off, though this time the skin around the edges isn't nearly as frayed as on their last victim. Apparently their killer decided to upgrade their tools.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Edrisa says, a tinge of sadness in her eyes at yet another life lost. "My initial assessment suggests blunt force trauma as the likely cause of death once again. As you can see, his hands were severed, just like Matt Walker. My team has found no sign of them yet."

"The killer took them?" JT's grimace is noticeable even beneath his mask as he looks over the body.

"Unis are canvassing the area and checking nearby dumpsters and storm drains for any...evidence...that the killer might have disposed of," Dani informs them, keeping several feet back from the tacky puddles of blood on the ground.

"Is this our primary scene?" Gil asks. There's less blood than he would have expected, given the state of the body, but still enough that it doesn't seem like a dump site, either.

"Oh, definitely," Edrisa chuckles. "Blood spatter patterns indicate he was killed over there," Edrisa points with a glove-covered hand, already stained with blood, to the side of the room next to a shelving unit packed with odds and ends. "And then dragged here to remove the hands."

"Explains the bloody smear on the ground," JT grumbles under his breath.

"Do we have an ID?" Gil asks, moving to look around the room. The whole space is a storage area. Everything from canned food to tools and janitorial supplies, even boxes of clothes and blankets.

Edrisa is kept from answering as a uniformed officer comes down the stairs asking, "Lieutenant? There's a civilian upstairs, says you invited him to the scene?"

Gil freezes in place, suddenly nervous about how this is going to go. His mouth, however, moves while his brain is still digging himself from a heap of 'what-ifs'. "Send him down."

He can't seem to tear his eyes away from the foot of the steps, awaiting Malcolm's presence with a jittery apprehension that Gil's not at all used to feeling. It's just that there's so much on the line and this isn't at all the way Gil had pictured his first time meeting the man. Not at a bloody crime scene, and not with the weight of _those words_ hanging over them.

And then suddenly the most beautiful man he's ever seen is stepping into the room.

It hits him harder than he was expecting. It's not like he didn't know that Malcolm was gorgeous, he sees him on his computer screen more nights than not, but somehow, seeing him in person is something else entirely.

Malcolm is in one of his perfectly tailored suits — a Prussian blue three-piece with a crisp white shirt and impeccably coordinated tie — and a beautiful pair of leather wingtip Oxfords that accentuates the line of his leg perfectly. A wool overcoat tops the look and gives the impression of a fashion model for one of those upscale brands that most people can only dream of owning. His hair is perfectly styled with just enough product to remain in place as he moves, but not so much that he looks overdone, and even his face mask is the perfect shade of blue to compliment not only his tie, but his eyes as well.

He's gorgeous. 

Which, oddly, makes Gil relax just a little. He's learned over the last few months that the more nervous Malcolm is, the more he fortifies himself behind an immaculate appearance. If today holds true to pattern, then Malcolm is a nervous wreck in a five-figure suit.

"Hello," Malcolm says, directing the greeting to the room at large. His eyes skip to Gil repeatedly, like he can't quite keep his gaze from drifting over to him where he stands on the other side of the room, but can't manage to keep eye contact either. He winds up speaking to Dani first. "Detective Powell, it's a pleasure to meet you in person. Detective Tarmel, Doctor Tanaka."

The confusion on Dani's face and the wariness on JT's doesn't escape Gil's notice, but Malcolm obviously isn't comfortable addressing Gil yet and he's not going to do anything to force the issue. Instead, Gil turns his attention (or, at least, most of his attention) back to the crime scene. He's still painfully aware of every movement Malcolm makes, but it helps to have the case to latch onto.

"About that ID?" Gil says, guiding all of them back on track.

"Uh. Unfortunately no," Edrisa says, oblivious to the low-grade tension buzzing around her. "No wallet on the vic and there's no hope of running facial recognition or fingerprints, obviously."

"The director here says he doesn't recognize the clothes as belonging to a guest of the shelter," Dani says easily, turning her attention to Gil. She still looks slightly confused about the interaction (or lack thereof) between Gil and Malcolm, but she's willing to follow his lead, and he's incredibly grateful for that. "He was the one that found the body and called it in."

"Any surveillance footage?" Gil asks, watching as Malcolm crouches down next to the victim, angling his head this way and that, taking in details that Gil is sure few others would even notice. He's captivating to watch, like this. There's something almost mesmerizing about the way he takes in the scene to build a profile, to work out the _hows_ and _whys_. Regrettably, now is not the time to get lost in the man.

"Not much, unfortunately," Dani says, slinging her hands in her pockets and walking over to Gil, leaving the body to Edrisa and Malcolm. "There are cameras at the front and rear entrances, but the rear camera was smashed last week by some 'young punks', according to the director. It's slated to be replaced tomorrow. We have a uni going over the footage from the main entrance, but it's not looking good."

"So our killer either knew about the camera or caught one hell of a lucky break," Gil says.

"I'm thinking it's the latter," Malcolm pipes up, then pauses for a second before correcting himself, "No. I mean, the former. I always get those two mixed up."

"What makes you say that?" Dani asks.

"Our vic was killed over there, yes?" Malcolm points to the area just behind where Gil and Dani are standing. Gil gives a brief nod and tries not to focus on the way Malcolm's face softens at the simple acknowledgement. "But the killer dragged him here to cut off his hands. Why?" Malcolm moves to grab a pair of nitrile gloves, slipping them on before returning to the body, either unaware or completely indifferent to the multiple sets of eyes on him as he moves. "May I?" he asks Edrisa.

"Yes! Of course!" Edrisa hurries to say. "We're all finished with processing the body and ready to transport him to the morgue for a full autopsy."

Malcolm's smile makes it all the way to his eyes, the mask doing nothing to hide the brightness behind it, and Edrisa's breath stutters audibly at the sight. A soft, "Thank you," floats from Malcolm before he reaches out to the body.

He slides one hand beneath the man's shoulder and one beneath his hip and lifts slightly, rolling him just enough to expose a drain in the floor beneath him. "The killer wanted to ensure a simple clean up after the body was removed. They're familiar with the shelter and wanted to make it easier for whomever is left cleaning their mess."

"Dude. How did you know that was there?" JT eyes Malcolm with a suspicion that makes Gil grin. His detective is always just a little wary of new people, especially when those people seem to have insight into an unsolved murder.

"It's kind of my thing. I imagine the crime from the killer's point of view. Helps me understand his state of mind." Malcolm absently looks up at the detective, but quickly picks up on the skeptical look he's garnering. "Also, there's a slight slope in the floor leading to the drain, and not nearly enough blood for two amputated appendages."

Gil can't help but chuckle, and it draws Malcolm's attention immediately. Even with the mask, the flush to his cheeks is somehow even more adorable in person than it is on Zoom, and Malcolm tips his head down just like Gil's seen so many times the last few months. It seems to be his standard display whenever he's feeling suddenly, unexpectedly, shy. 

Maybe, Gil thinks to himself, everything is going to be alright after all.

They spend a little more time letting Malcolm absorb the details of the scene and inspect the body as the forensics team wraps up around them, but soon enough they're heading back up the stairs, walking through the main room of the shelter, set up with rows and rows of tables for feeding the ever-increasing percentage of the population who can't afford the exorbitant cost of living in the city.

Gil's planning on heading back to the precinct, assuming Malcolm will be joining them to discuss the case further and come up with a plan, but Dani stops him with a tug on the sleeve of his blazer and a weighted nod towards Malcolm, who's walking several feet in front of them, keeping a safe distance despite the masks they're all wearing.

He knows she's wondering what's going on between them, why they've hardly even said hello when Gil's been so anxious to meet him for so long. He also knows that it would be best to get the uncomfortable conversation with Malcolm out of the way before they go back to the precinct and need to dive head first into the investigation.

With a quiet sigh, Gil nods and gestures for JT and Dani to head back together. He's hopeful that he'll be able to give Malcolm a ride, assuming they can work through the awkward tension that has suddenly sprung up between them.

"Malcolm," Gil says quietly, but the kid stops and spins around at the sound of his name as if it had been shouted. "Can we talk a minute?"

"Oh. Sure. Of course."

Gil leads them to the side of the room, just next to the entrance, and waits until the rest of the uniforms and techs have filed out before he turns to face Malcolm.

"Look—"

"Gil—"

They speak at the same time, halting and chuckling as their words crash mid-air.

"Go ahead, kid," Gil offers. The urge to reach out and clasp a hand around the back of Malcolm's neck, to pull off their masks and tug him in for a kiss, is almost overwhelming now that they're so close. He doesn't, of course. It would be inappropriate on so many levels. 

But he certainly wants to. 

"About what I said, yesterday." Malcolm runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that he doesn't even seem aware of. "I didn't mean to say it."

Gil's stomach drops at the confirmation of his worst fear, but just as he's opening his mouth to apologize, Malcolm holds up his hand to keep Gil from speaking and presses on.

"But I also meant it. I'm in love with you."

Malcolm seems so nervous that Gil can't keep himself from stepping forward and reaching out, but the motion is cut short by a commanding voice that floats from across the room.

"Malcolm, darling. What are you doing here?"

Gil's first thought is that he recognizes that voice. But that thought is immediately forgotten at the wide-eyed look of fear that consumes Malcolm's features.

"Kid?" Gil asks quietly, but Malcolm's gaze snaps to the source of the voice, a stunning woman in four inch heels and an outfit that appears even more expensive than Malcolm's suit. She's accompanied by a uniformed officer who is maintaining a respectful distance as he escorts her to the exit.

The woman walks over, her heels tap-tap-tapping on the linoleum floor, until she's about ten feet from Malcolm and Gil. The mask she's wearing makes it difficult to place her, but Gil is absolutely certain that he recognizes the woman.

"I can't seem to persuade you to show up for brunch, and yet here you are, lunching at a shelter," she says, looking to Malcolm for an explanation.

"Mother, wh-what are you doing here?" The words trip over themselves in their haste to leave Malcolm's mouth, but Gil is entirely caught up on 'Mother'.

"I'm the chairwoman of the board that funds this shelter, dear. I was asked to come in and speak with the officers about a body that was discovered on the premises," a small shiver shakes her body at the words, but she presses on, asking, "what on earth are _you_ doing here?" 

Malcolm looks at a complete loss for words, but suddenly Gil is speaking before he even realizes his lips are moving.

"Mrs. Whitly?"

It's like Gil has been handed all the pieces to a puzzle but still can't seem to slot them together, can't form a clear picture, despite the solution staring him in the face.

The woman — Jessica, his mind helpfully supplies — arches a perfectly formed brow at him, but her expression softens the same way Malcolm's did not long ago as she makes the connection.

"Officer...Arroyo, isn't it?" Jessica asks, her voice trembling slightly. Gil can't blame her. Seeing him now after all these years must bring back a flood of memories she'd much rather stay dammed up in her mind.

"Lieutenant," Malcolm corrects absently, looking far too close to shock for Gil's liking.

"Of course," Jessica says, her eyes raking over Gil. "You must be working the investigation into what happened to that poor man."

"Wait. How do you know Gil?" Malcolm finally manages to ask. It sounds like he's forcing the words out at gunpoint and Gil is getting more concerned by the second. 

"Officer—excuse me, _Lieutenant_ Arroyo was the officer that showed up the night when you…" her words trail off, but unfortunately, the memory is something none of them will ever forget.

Gil's head snaps back to Malcolm so fast that his neck twinges in protest, but the pieces are finally fitting together and it feels like the rug has just been pulled out from under him.

"Malcolm Whitly?" Gil whispers, hardly believing it's possible.

Malcolm is wide-eyed and motionless, a deer caught in the headlights, and Gil's heart aches something fierce to see him like that. He's never wanted to make things better for Malcolm more than he does right now.

"I'm." Malcolm starts and cuts off, his body swaying slightly. Gil reaches out once again, this time to steady him, but Malcolm jerks back before he can make contact. "I can't. I'm just...I can't. I'm sorry."

His words are choked and broken and Gil would do anything to take away that look on his face, but Malcolm turns on his heel and is out the door before Gil can even call out, leaving Gil with his mouth agape and truckload of confusion. 

Gil wants to chase after him. To make sure he's okay. But he's stopped by Jessica's hand on his arm, her grip firm and unyielding.

He didn't even notice her step closer.

"Lieutenant," she says, her voice low, threatening. "What is going on?"

That's a damn fine question, Gil thinks. He'd like to know the answer to that, too.


End file.
